


you have stolen my heart (now don’t go away)

by AnglerfishEli



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/F, Minor Violence, Speakeasies, Supernatural Elements, anthropologist! waverly, cryptozoologist!nicole, its what she deserves, kinda genderqueer nicole, no beta we die like willa, theres gonna be:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29703036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnglerfishEli/pseuds/AnglerfishEli
Summary: “CAREER OPPORTUNITY”, the newspaper advert read. “LOOKING FOR A MAN OF LETTERS WITH EDUCATION IN THE FIELDS OF HISTORY, ANTHROPOLOGY, ARCHEOLOGY, AND THE OCCULT.”Waverly Earp was certainly no man, but she checked all other boxes, quite better than any other man might.“SALARY WILL COME IN THE FORM OF ONE (1) $28.75 CHEQUE AND NEGOTIATE ONWARD.”Waverly supposed that was less than ideal. But she had to admit, it was certainly better than what she was making at Shorty's right now.“PLEASE VISIT ONE N. HAUGHT AT 465 ON BROADWAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 AM AND 2 PM. PLEASANT DEMEANOR, GOOD APPEARANCE. PLEASE ARRIVE SOBER.”Waverly liked to believe she was quite pleasant, and certainly good looking by the standards of most men (unfortunately). On the matter of sobriety, well- she wasn’t Wynnona, at least.-----AKA, waverly is an anthropologist, nicole is a Great War vet turned cyrptozoologist, its the 1920s and they have fun.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 21
Kudos: 71





	1. CHAPTER I

Waverly found the flyer pasted up outside on the window of a Liggett’s on her walk back from the library. 

She’d been slouched over her books all morning, reading up on a particular new book by anthropologist Franz Boaz. A detailed display of various artworks across the world dating back possibly thousands of years, Waverly had been enraptured by the carefully printed recreations of the art, losing herself in Boaz’s raving theories about their connections and the culture they stemmed from. She had studied the art on those pages for so long, amazed at what she had never seen before, she didn’t even realise it was getting dark until she had glanced out the little window to her right and saw the sun setting over 5th Avenue.

She quickly returned the books to their shelves, tossing on her coat as she went, shouldering her purse. She had gotten so lost in her readings that she had almost forgotten her plans for tonight. A quick dinner with her sister, Wynonna, and then off to work for another late night at Shorty’s. As she tucked away one of the books she had borrowed for the day back on its shelf, she hovered over the display space that Boaz’s new book had been propped up on when she arrived, and, not permitting herself to overthink it, marched up to one the librarian’s desks and allowed the soft eyed woman to stamp the inside of the book and mark her name off in a ledger. 

Waverly tucked the book into her bag and took off. She glanced at one of the clocks in the library’s sitting room - it was too late to grab anything from a restaurant or one of her normal haunts, Waverly dashed out the front doors of the New York Public Library, waving a quick goodbye to Jeremy, the young man who tended to loiter around the front desk. So instead of turning left and hopping on the cable car that usually led her all the way back to her apartment in the lower east side, she turned right and walked as briskly as a lady in heeled boots could as she pushed against the swarms of evening commuters like a salmon fighting upstream. 

Mmmm, salmon. The fact that Waverly couldn’t remember the last time she had had a fresh warm meal (that wasn’t the leftovers of whatever new strange chicken-and-rice dish of the month her neighbor saw in The Metropolitan) was not helping her growing hunger right now. Waverly picked up the pace, pulling her coat tighter around her to protect herself from the chill of the New York breeze in the air. Allowing her body to take over her movements as she walked to the drugstore, she drifted into the front of her mind and took a moment to review her plans for tonight.

Item I: Waverly had promised her sister, Wynonna, this morning, that she would pick up dinner when she returned from her day of studies. This such item was what was currently in progress. Instead of grabbing some pasta and sauce to make dinner, Waverly was settling on getting a couple sandwiches and letting Wynnona go to town on them. God knows that woman could eat like a cow sometimes. 

Item II: Waverly had a late shift at the bar tonight. Bar is an outdated term now, she thought as she walked. There were no more “bars” in New York City, except in the offices and penthouses near the East River that seemed to stretch closer to the skies than the ground. No, Waverly worked in what the papers were calling a “speakeasy” these days. She sold membership cards to folk, being that Shorty’s was, for all legalities, an exclusive arts club, and such memberships came with a weekly allotment of free, provided, alcoholic beverages for card-carrying members. It was a tricky loophole they danced around in frequently. 

Item III: Waverly was going to quit Shorty’s.

It was an item that frequently ended up on her list, and was just as frequently neglected. She didn’t really know how to break it to Gus- Gus, sweet Gus, who had practically adopted her and Wynonna after the Depression and the war and every other bad thing life had thrown at them. She was one of the only girls that could work the bar at nights, but Waverly knew she needed to move on soon. Find something a little more suited to her set of hard earned skills.

As Waverly ruminated on that thought, she felt herself be suddenly jarred back to the present as a broad shoulder collided squarely with her chest, jostling her hard enough to send her bag colliding with the concrete. 

“Oh gosh!” She muttered, shaking herself from her thoughts and pulling her focus back to reality. Back to the tall figure that stood before her. As Waverly’s vision became centered again, she took a good look at whoever shoved her and-

Oh.

Oh my. 

Standing before Waverly hands spread out in front of them like a peace offering, was maybe the most beautiful, or handsome, or perhaps just stunning person Waverly had ever seen in her entire 22 years of living. 

(Looking back on this moment, five, ten years in the future, Waverly would come to realise that while this wasn’t the defining moment, it was definitely the moment before the moment; it was like the click of a record before it was set down on the turntable in the jukebox in Bobo’s, the trashy liquor store in midtown, or that second of buzz on the radio when the radio man stopped his talking and a new music program began.)

Waverly looked at this person, drank them in like a glass of Wynonna’s whiskey. They had on a simple pressed suit in a soft navy blue. The coat was double breasted and ran a few inches below their hands. They had on a silk pearl white tie over a stark white shirt, the collar of which seemed jostled just slightly behind their neck, leaving just an inch of space between the edge of the fabric and the wool of their coat. To top it all off, the person was wearing one of those funny white straw boater hats, that Waverly oft lightheartedly laughed at in her moments of observation, but this person, with their soft, curling orange hair tucked into it, suddenly seemed to cause Waverly to reevaluate every opinion she held about the fashion piece. Waverly’s eyes trailed the person’s face- their features were soft, but chiseled and strong, almost feminine in build, and their eyes… oh Lord, Waverly almost dropped to her knees. Deep brown eyes, like strong rich coffee, dark like the beautiful old oak vanity she and Wynonna had grabbed off the street for their apartment: a wood stained treasure. Waverly could stare in those eyes for the rest of her life, she deciding in that moment. And she just might have, if she didn’t suddenly feel a soft hand lay gently on her wrist, awaking her from her regarding.

“Ma’am? You alright?” The face spoke, and.

Waverly flushed red. She shifted her eyes downward, hoping to abandon her ogling as quickly as possible. How embarrassing! Waverly eyes were feasting on this person, in the middle of 42nd Street, like a piece of ham on the rack for Christmas dinner, God help her. 

The voice cut in again. “Ma’am? Are you hurt? You aren’t hurt, right? I’m so sorry, I was in such a rush I barely even saw you marching on a beeline right for me-”

”It’s quite alright,” Waverly cut them off, finding her voice. She allowed a natural smile to slip in, soothing some of the nerves that had bled onto the person’s face when Waverly hadn’t responded for a minute, like some kind of dumb dora who had never bumped an attractive person in the street before. 

(In fairness, it had happened one other time, but, well… Champ had been nothing like Waverly had ever met before, for maybe all the wrong reasons, so she liked to think that didn’t count.)

“I’m perfectly fine, don’t you worry.” She placed her hand on top of the hand that currently rested on her wrist. 

“Although I have dropped my bag, it would seem. Would you mind retrieving it for me?”

“Of course!” The person exclaimed, nearly scrambling to retrieve her bag and things that had spilled onto the street between them. Waverly bit back a smirk. 

She watched as the figure bent down and slowly gathered her things. She would admit to herself, in private later that night, that if she was enraptured by the way the redhead’s back muscles seemed to ripple beneath the fabric of their coat, biting her lip at the flex of their shoulder blades, well- 

No one ever called Waverly a saint. 

The person stood up, handing Waverly her bag. Waverly saw in their hand they were grasping a book, the same book Waverly had checked out from the library not thirty minutes ago. It had felt like years since she had been anywhere but in this moment. 

“‘Primitive Art’ by Franz-” The figure started, and Waverly, so excited by the look of recognition that flitted across their face for a moment, cut them off completely and interrupted. 

“Boaz! Yes, are you a reader of his work?”

“I was at one time, and a bit more now. I always admired his views on women in the fields of science.”

“He is quite the progressive, and somewhat of an activist,” Waverly agreed enthusiastically. “‘We have no right to impose our ideals upon other nations, no matter how strange it may seem to us that they enjoy the kind of life they lead.’”

“Why German-Americans Blame America, The New York Times.” The person nodded in recognition. “He did not - er - support the war in any way that one may consider socially amenable. In that piece, he was trying to critique falsely superior American nationalist views, am I correct?”

Waverly just about fainted on the spot. 

After Waverly so elegantly failed to elicit a response, the figure paled slightly, handing Waverly her book and taking a step back. They tucked their hands in their trouser pockets. Waverly felt a sudden and strange uncontrollable urge to reach for them, to not them leave. 

“Well, I’m sorry to keep you ma’am. And sorry about bumping into you.” 

“No, no! It’s quite alright!” Waverly stammered nervously. Nervously? What was wrong with her so suddenly? “I apologise for getting in your way, if anything.”

The person smiled again, glancing down the road. “Not at all, ma’am. I’ll let you be on your way.” The figure hesitated, glancing at Waverly quickly and then away again. “Is it odd that I wish to see you again?”

Waverly sucked in a tight breath. “Not at all. In fact, I… I think I may share that wish.”

The person nodded. They smiled blindingly at Waverly, tipping the brim of their silly boater hat in her direction, and then stepped into the still flowing crowd of pedestrians, fading into the New York crowd and disappearing.

Waverly needed a drink. 

\-----

When she walked up to the window in front of Liggett’s, her plan to buy dinner nearly forgotten in her mind, she noticed the poster immediately. 

“CAREER OPPORTUNITY”, the job advert read. “LOOKING FOR A MAN OF LETTERS WITH EDUCATION IN THE FIELDS OF HISTORY, ANTHROPOLOGY, ARCHEOLOGY, AND THE OCCULT.” 

Waverly Earp was certainly no man, but she checked all other boxes, quite better than any other man might. 

“SALARY WILL COME IN THE FORM OF ONE (1) $28.75 CHEQUE AND NEGOTIATE ONWARD.”

Waverly supposed that was less than ideal. But she had to admit, it was certainly better than what she was making at Shorty's right now. 

“PLEASE VISIT ONE N. HAUGHT AT 465 ON BROADWAY BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 AM AND 2 PM. PLEASANT DEMEANOR, GOOD APPEARANCE. PLEASE ARRIVE SOBER.”

Waverly liked to believe she was quite pleasant, and certainly good looking by the standards of most men (unfortunately). On the matter of sobriety, well- she wasn’t Wynnona, at least. 

Her fingers ran over the paper, feeling the imprint from the stamps of the typewriter it was likely made on. She wondered how many strange life altering coincidences she may have tonight, as she slowly, carefully, removed the paper from the glass pane and folded it up into her bag. 

This was a sign, she thought. Something about the days events- a new book, a strange and energising encounter, this job advert in the one place she had not planned to be today- it all felt like a guiding hand in the direction she had been wandering towards for years. 

Tonight then. Tonight she would talk to Gus. Tomorrow, she would go to the interview. 

Waverly felt as though her entire life were about to change.


	2. Chapter II

Waverly could tell it was going to be a long night before she even made it past the third flight of stairs to her and Wynonna’s shared apartment. She could hear the radio in their room playing some loud Ted Lewis song, and to Waverly’s absolute horror, the voice of Wynonna and another man singing carried all the way down the hall. 

She was thankful for the fact that as she approached, the voices seemed to stop or at least quiet, for a moment, and she gripped her shoulder bag tightly and marched up the doorway to their apartment, pausing before the doorway to fish out her set of keys and jam them into the rusted old lock. It was embarrassing, but Waverly was struggling to get the door upon, and she quietly cursed the stupid old door for having the audacity to get stuck in the first place. 

When the lock finally clicked in place and Waverly pushed into the door with her shoulder, the first thing she did was put her bag down by the door and reach over to the old hall table the radio sat on to crank the volume dial all the way down. 

This move was a mistake. 

Waverly’s ears were immediately privy to a loud moaning noise coming from the sofa in front of the mantle, and with a quick, curious (read: involuntary) glance in that direction, her eyes met the back of a dark haired man’s head buried between her sisters thighs. 

A few things happened at once. 

Waverly yelped and screamed out “Wynonna!” with a similar intonation to her voice as if she had just found her about to dump a box of puppies over the Hudson. Her hands flew to cover her eyes and she stumbled backwards, jostling the table and knocking over the radio.

Wynonna, at the sound of her baby sister’s voice, promptly  _ kicked  _ the man square in the chest and sent him flying backwards across their wood floor, straight towards Waverly. 

The man, letting out his first  _ oof _ at the well placed kick, then let out his second as he crashed into Waverly’s knees, bumping her harder into the table, which in turn tipped the already disturbed radio further over the edge, and Waverly heard the sharp intake of breath before the radio careened off the edge and smashed into the floor, splitting its plastic and metal casing and scattering parts everywhere.

“Damn. That was the one nice piece of junk we had.”

“Wynonna Earp, I would just throttle you with my bare hands if they weren’t blocking my eyes from seeing your undesirables.” Waverly huffed out with barely restrained anger.

“’M sorry, Waves. You can move your hands, I swear I’m decent.”

Waverly peeled her hands from her eyes and glanced at Wynonna, who was adjusting the skirt of her short black evening dress. She felt a soft pat on her toes and looked down to see Wynonna’s  _ man _ looking up at her with an extremely apologetic and extremely drunk look in his eyes. 

“Sorry ‘bout the radio, miss.” 

Waverly stared in despair at the pieces of their good radio scattered across the floor. She huffed in acknowledgement.

“It’s fine. Wynonna can buy us a new one.”

“Uh, Waves, I don't know if I can…”

“Please, Wynonna, I’m certain you can scrounge up the money to replace our radio that your…”

“‘M Doc.” The man supplied when Waverly looked at him with her eyebrows raised in question. 

“What?”

“My name’s Doc Holliday, ma’am.” 

“Oh,” Waverly said cleverly. “That's your real name?”

“No.” He supplied. “But I like it better than my old’n, so.”

Waverly started to pick up a soft Southern accent behind the drunken slur of his words. Something about this man’s oiled black hair, patterned vest, and country demeanor seemed familiar to Waverly, but she couldn’t place it yet, until Wynonna butted in. 

“He’s the bruno at Shorty’s, Wave.” 

“I thought that was supposed to be your job.” 

Because, last Waverly checked, it is. Waverly and Wynonna were both well aware of the… duplicitous nature of the business run by their Aunt Gus at Shorty’s. The speakeasy was run out of the cellar of a little thrift store on 3rd Avenue, which meant a certain amount of discretion, and sometimes enforcement, was necessary. While Waverly was tending the bar at nights, serving complimentary drinks to the jazz club’s guests, Wynonna manned the storefront in the guise of a clerk closing up shop, ensuring no cops or unsavory types made their way down underground. Waverly knew it was infrequent that scuffles did occur; of course Wynonna was always more than prepared (and willing) to handle it when they did. And they did occur, the scuffles. Now, more frequently than any of them liked.

“It  _ is _ ,” Wynonna whined, “but since the damn shoot-up got Gus all rattled, she doesn’t want me watching the front alone anymore. Ergo, tall, dark and handsome watches my six.”

“Well thank you, Ms. Earp,” Doc muttered from his spot on the floor. “You ain’t a bad cocktail yourself.”

Wynonna furrowed her eyebrows. “That's not as flattering as you think it is, you drunk bastard.”

“You’re drunk.” Doc quipped brilliantly. “I’m too tall to be drunk.”

Waverly was really starting to get fed up with this. She stepped aside from Doc, letting his head fall against the hall table with a solid  _ thunk.  _ “You're both drunk,” she cut in, “and I’m going to be late for work. If you can stand, I suggest you both put on your coats and walk me to work, where you two also work, so none of us are late.” 

Wynonna blinked slowly. She looked at Dolls. Both started to turn pink from the apparent stifling of their laughter at Waverly’s outburst. 

“Okay, Waves, we’re coming. Give us a moment, yeah?” Wynonna stood up and tossed on her nice fur trimmed coat they had bought from a catalogue. “Did you grab us any dinner?” 

“Oh... right, about that.”

Wynonna stared down at her as she adjusted her collar. “Waverly Earp, did you forgot to pick up dinner for your darling sister and her stranger?”

Waverly ignored the teasing lilt in Wynonna’s voice as she opened the front door to hide her embarrassment. The reminder of her failed quest for dinner only jogged her connected memory of the mysterious redhead she had ran into earlier that day, and Waverly’s whole body flushed with heat as she suddenly felt the ghostly touch of the person’s hand on her wrist, their warm eyes staring right into her-

She heard Dolls struggling to his feet, and knew Wynonna was close on her tail, so she only yelled out “Coats!” behind her, and then she was out the door and down the hall. 

\-----

The walk to Shorty’s from their apartment was a good sobering agent for Wynonna and Doc, who Waverly forced to trudge through the cold autumn air instead of taking the cable car like her and Wynonna usually would. It was a nice enough night, and there was the added bonus of having Doc accompanying them. His dark facial hair was illuminated by the light at the end of his hand-rolled cigarette, and, whether he was aware of it not, his presence alone provided the two sisters a form of incidental protection from unwanted streetside attention, especially this late at night. 

And Waverly could admit- although she had initially been opposed to Doc after she, you know, walked in on him  _ defiling _ her sister and he broke their radio, the one source of entertainment they had besides their large stash of bootlegged whiskey- he was nice enough. He held conversation with Waverly, asked her about her studies and her hobbies, seemed naturally impressed by her knowledge instead of disbelieving like most men she met. He even had the decency to applaud her when she slipped into old Latin when the topic of her multi-literacy came up, and when she brushed it off as  _ just a parlor trick, really,  _ he shook his head and called her a genius. 

“Ms. Earp, why might a woman of your skill be servin’ dirty gin each night instead of off in the jungle discovering lost civilizations?”

Waverly pressed her lips into a thin smile. Wynonna always used to ask her the same thing, before. Recently, she had also been asking herself the same. 

“It’s safer, I suppose.” At Doc and Wynonna’s incredulous looks, she laughed. “I don’t mean the hold ups and the guns and the drunk boys. I mean knowing Gus, knowing Wynonna, that you’re in the next room when I need you. That I don’t have anything to prove to anyone- not my smarts, or my skills, and knowing I’m getting paid fair…” 

Waverly trailed off. She had thought about leaving for a while, but the fields of academia awaiting her had felt so uninviting for so long. 

She had heard stories from girls in her cohort in college. Girls who graduated top of their classes and could only find jobs as secretaries and assistants. Who had sleazy men in suits for bosses, who reeked of cigar smoke and treated the girls like knowledge to hoard or land to conquer. Who never got the chance to give their opinion on new findings, or make discoveries themselves, confined to the dimensions of the predisposed notions of men who considered matriarchal societies  _ barbaric. _

Wynonna could tell Waverly was in turmoil, and they were approaching the outside of the front of Shorty’s. She wrapped  her arm around Waverly’s shoulders and yanked her in close. 

“You’ll find something soon, Waves. Those guys would be crazy not to get you on a research team. You’re brighter than half the folks on this planet combined.”

Waverly smiled. “I did find something today. It was a flier outside Liggett’s. Seems to be some kind of research position open for an anthropologist. I think I’m gonna go in.” 

Wynonna beamed down at Waverly, and, seeing the genuine excitement in her face, yelled her name and pulled her in tight for a hug. Wynonna was practically lifting her off the ground she was pulling her so tight. Waverly squealed and laughed at her sister's antics. 

“Waves, that’s terrific! My God, you’re going to blow this interview out of the park, and my baby sister is gonna be in one of those science periodicals in no time. Then maybe you can buy us a better radio!” 

“I haven’t even been hired yet, Wynonna, so please don’t go gunning for anything. And don’t tell Aunt Gus either. I want to talk to her myself about it.”

“Wanna talk to me about what?”

Waverly and Wynonna both screamed in surprise as Gus poked her head out from the front door. Waverly looked away obviously, while Wynonna started whistling like a fool. Doc just chuckled quietly behind them.

Gus raised her eyebrow. “Well, if you got nothing to say, at least get inside and get to work, ladies. Henry.”    
  


“Mrs. McCreedy.” Doc nodded to her, tipping his wide-brimmed hat as he brushed passed and moved to stand in front of the cellar door. 

“Evening Aunt Gus,” Waverly smiled, hanging her coat up by the door and unlocking the cellar. “Did Bobo bring in some more cases of hooch like I asked?” 

“That man gives me the heebie jeebies, Waverly. I don’t trust him even an inch I could throw him. Don’t know how you’re friends with him.” 

“He’s harmless, Aunt Gus.” Waverly laughed, shaking her head as her and Gus descended the stairs into the cellar together. 

“He tried to shoot me twice!” Wynonna yelled from above. 

“In his defense, you deserved it!”

Waverly heard Wynonna grumbling upstairs. She walked around the cellar and started setting up, turning on the low lights and adjusting the tables to her liking. It was a Friday night, which meant big business for Shorty’s. The jazz band performing tonight would be coming in soon, and Waverly liked to prepare the bar while they tuned their instruments. 

“Mr. Del Rey dropped off a couple of cases of his bathtub brew. I put a case under the bar for you.” 

“Thanks Aunt Gus.” Waverly leaned down to press a quick kiss to her Aunt’s cheek. Gus smiled back at her and took her hand.

“Waverly, can you swing by my office after we close up tonight?” Gus looked at Waverly and she felt like her Aunt was staring straight into her soul. Her hands started to clam up. 

“Of course, Gus. I’ll swing by later.” 

“Thank you sweetheart.” Gus gave her a small smile. If Waverly read a little further into it, she would maybe say it was pained. Gus let go of her hand and turned around. “And just bring yourself, Waverly. No Wynonna, please.”

Waverly gulped. 

\-----

Despite impending doom of Gus’s words to her, the rest of the night flowed mostly peacefully. When the band showed up Waverly finished polishing the tables and went to go cut limes for a bit, and took the time to set up her bar for the night. Although it was by no means her dream career, Waverly did really enjoy mixing drinks- it felt like a sort of meditation, most of the time. When she mixed a cocktail for someone, the movements came naturally, and her body moved without thinking, allowing her to separate her thoughts and focus on other things, like reviewing a professor’s lecture entirely in her head or the conversations of the people at the bar. 

Today, it was the jazz music flowing through the air. As Waverly quickly muddled some lime into a clear glass and grabbed a bottle of gin from the bar to stir in, she focused on the upbeat and complex harmonies of the instruments. She had a small dance in her step as she walked around behind the bar, and was mostly tuned out to the voices of her patrons until one familiar voice lifted above all others and stopped Waverly dead in her tracks. 

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

Waverly damn near dropped her muddler. She looked up to the corner of the bar, and there, standing in dark grey pressed pants and a cream colored sweater vest, was her redheaded stranger. 

“Hi.” Waverly breathed out, in shock that she was somehow fated to meet this person twice in one night. 

“Hello,” the redhead leaned across the bar, holding up one of Shorty’s membership cards. “I’ll take my complimentary drink. Dealer’s choice.”

Waverly ducked her head to hide the huge grin spreading across her face. She grabbed an empty whiskey glass from under the bar and a bottle of Bobo’s bathtub moonshine. 

“You know, I’ve never seen you around before,” Waverly said, uncapping the bottle of moonshine and pouring two fingers of the strong stuff into the glass. She stowed the liquor away and then grabbed a dark brown chilled bottle. “And I hand out the membership cards, so I’ve seen just about everyone.” 

“I came with a friend,” Waverly’s eyes widened in surprise. She felt her heart beat out of rhythm for just a moment, and her neck burned red hot. She felt, if for an insane moment, an unfamiliar feeling that reeked of jealousy. Strange.

“Xavier Dolls,” the redhead continued. “If you know everyone here, then maybe you know him?”

Waverly let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She uncapped the brown bottle and poured the fizzing, caramel colored liquid into the glass, inhaling the wafting scent of sweet ginger. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know him,” Waverly told the redhead, “but if he’s here tonight, perhaps you could introduce us?”

“Perhaps.” The redhead grinned. “But I think instead I’ll keep you to myself for now.” 

Waverly was certain that the redhead could hear her sharp intake of breath in that moment. She hoped the dim industrial lights in the cellar made it harder to see the blush that seemed to perpetually grace her complexion while in the presence of her stranger. Waverly wiped her damp hands on a towel she kept behind the bar, and reached her right hand out to the redhead, who looked surprised by the sudden movement. 

“If you plan on keeping me for the night, you should probably know my name. Waverly Earp.”

The redhead took her hand with a strong grasp that enclosed her whole palm. Waverly gave it a single shake. 

“Waverly Earp,” they said, feeling the syllables around. Waverly had never realized how beautiful her name sounded until she heard it coming from those lips. “Waverly Earp, who reads Boaz.”

“And you might be?”

“Nic. Most people call me Nic.” The redhead stared straight at Waverly, like they were sizing her up. Waverly straightened her back and met the gaze evenly, gave a soft smile and an open expression, not sure what she was being evaluated for. She felt a foreign and unexplainable desire to provide whatever this mysterious stranger was looking for in her. 

The redhead seemed to read this, and gave her an almost imperceptible nod, before continuing, 

“My friends call me Nicole.”

And, oh. Waverly felt a puzzle piece suddenly press into place in her chest. Of course.  _ Of course. _

Waverly stilled her frantically beating heart and quirked an eyebrow at Nicole. 

“And are we friends, then?”

Nicole rubbed her thumb softly, a featherlight touch. Waverly was increasingly aware that their hands had yet to separate.

“I would like us to be, I think.”

“If we are friends, and I may call you Nicole, would I be correct in assuming that you are…”

“A woman.” Nicole whispered, almost imperceptible beneath the din of the room and stirring music. “You would be correct.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay? That's… alright with you?”

Waverly smiled. “Of course, Nicole. Don’t be silly.”

And that was that. 

\-----

Nicole lingered around the bar for a while after they talked. Eventually Waverly had to resume her actual job, but Nicole would strike up conversation with her when she passed by her side of the table or had a break in fulfilling orders. 

When Waverly brought Nicole her moonshine and gingerbeer concoction, Nicole took a whiff of it and had to hold in a choke. Waverly let out a very undignified laugh that had Nicole chuckling softly in response, before she tossed about half of it back in one drink. Waverly’s eyes trailed the muscles in Nicole’s neck as she swallowed and stretched, feeling the afterburn of the harsh liquor. 

“Good Lord. That’s some-” Nicole hiccupped. “-some strong stuff you're serving up there. Ms. Earp.” 

Waverly raised a challenging eyebrow. “Can’t hold your hooch, Nicole?”

“In your dreams.” And Nicole slammed back the rest of the glass. 

Waverly would be lying if she said that didn’t make her heart (and some part of her a little bit lower) throb in delight. 

Waverly had to leave again, but she kept an eye on Nicole. She finally got a chance to really watch her, and, well… Nicole’s behavior was a bit odd. She seemed generally disinterested with the discussion at that bar, as well as the musicians on stage, instead surveying the room with keen interest like she was looking for something- or someone. Every so often she would tap anxiously on the rim of her empty glass (she had politely refused all Waverly’s offers for refills), and glance around the room. If Waverly were a naturally suspicious person, she might mind these actions somewhat strange. 

But Waverly was naturally suspicious, and she definitely thought something strange was going on. 

She made her way over to Nicole after a lull in orders, polishing off a tall martini glass. 

“Everything alright over here?” Waverly questioned, eyes shifting from Nicole’s tapping hand to her face. 

“Just peachy.” Nicole said to the other side of the room, completely unsuspiciously. 

“Looking for someone? Your friend Xavier?” 

“Hm? Xavier? No, I know where he is…” Nicole trailed off, gaze focused on the front door. Her fingers tapped the rim of the glass again. Waverly tracked the movement and, entirely unconsciously, counted the beats. 

Oh.

Here's the thing. 

Waverly loved languages. She loved learning them, writing them, listening to other people speak. She was fluent in four languages, not counting the dead ones, so to see the stiff pattern being tapped out on the clear glass of the cup below her made her polyglot brain sound off alarm bells before you could say  _ Sir Richard Burton.  _ So as she tried to make herself look busy slicing more limes, Waverly started counting.

_ Two, one one one. One Two. Onetwoone.  _ A beat.  _ Oneone. Oneoneone.  _ A beat.  _ Twoonetwoone onetwooneone one onetwo onetwoone  _ and-

Ah. 

Waverly was suddenly infinitely more intrigued by the stranger-who-had-become-Nicole, because Waverly was quite certain she had just tapped out “BAR IS CLEAR” in morse code on her glass, disguised as nervous fidgeting. 

Waverly wondered what other secrets Nicole held. If she was communicating in morse code with someone, was she here on some sort of covert business? Waverly thought about how she knew next to nothing about this woman besides her name and her pension for ugly boater hats. If she was trying to secretly communicate something, and was watching the bar for danger, was  _ Waverly _ in danger? She was about to walk right over to her and demand to know what was going on when she heard a voice from the middle of the bar table call out to her. 

“Miss Waverly.” Tucker Gardner, the weasley little palooka who came in often to harass Waverly and drink away his family’s contempt for him, slammed down an empty whiskey glass she didn’t remember serving him. His breath reeked of stale hooch. “Get me another whiskey, now.” 

Waverly huffed out her anger and grabbed the half-watered bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind her. As she turned around, she missed seeing Nicole slide away from the bar and meld into the crowd. She uncapped the bottle and poured a little over an ounce into Tucker’s glass, hoping his eyes were too crossed to see her underserve him. She was unfortunately unlucky. 

“Can a man get a full glass around here?” Waverly added another splash, eyeing him cautiously. Tucker had tried it with her once or twice before, and it usually ended in his face connecting with her or Wynonna’s fist, so she hoped he would be smart enough to not try it again. She was, for the second time, wrong. As she pulled away to cap the bottle, Tucker reached out and snatched her wrist in his hand, gripping tightly. 

Involuntarily, Waverly let out a short gasp of surprise, which only seemed to fuel Tucker’s drunk insolence. With Waverly frozen there, he picked up his half-filled glass and sloshed it over the front of Waverly’s dress, before slamming it down on the bar and freeing Waverly’s arm. 

“Can I get a top up, Waverly?” Tucker’s monotonous voice slurred at her, dripping with disrespect, “Seems like I spilled my whiskey.” 

Waverly’s fingers itched. She was reaching under the bar slowly, about to do something, very, very bad, when a block of orange and cream suddenly forced its way out of the crowd and promptly  _ walloped  _ Tucker so hard into the bar table that all the glasses resting on it shook. When the familiar figure grabbed Tucker by the scruff of his hair and pulled him up so they were face to face, Waverly almost didn’t recognize the angry look in Nicole’s eyes, or the low growl that overflowed from her tensely set jaw.

“Apologize.” 

“What the hell?” Tucker screamed. His nose was destroyed, and blood flowed loosely to his chin. A part of Waverly found the image extremely satisfying, and from the look on Nicole’s face, some part of her did too. 

“Apologize to her.”

“You can’t do that!” Tucker cried out at Nicole, the big weeping baby. “You are  _ assaulting _ me, you damn deviant-”

Before he could continue, Nicole backhanded him so hard Waverly was certain he met God. 

Tucker, probably unconscious, tilted back and started on a deadweight path for the floor. Most of the people at the bar stepped aside, content with letting his thick skull take another round of damage, but one man lingering in the crowd didn’t get the message, and Tucker’s twig shaped body promptly collided with the man’s back, jostling his arm roughly and spilling the man’s drink all over him. 

The entire room collectively took a breath. 

Waverly new what was coming. Her index finger was tensing slowly, like squeezing an invisible trigger. She could sense a brawl coming on. Waverly tried to size up the man who had been on the receiving end of Tucker’s fall. He was wearing a dark grey flat cap, and dirty linen button-up, like the thin shirt of a longshoreman, the back of which appeared to be completely caked with dry mud. In fact, the whole of him seemed to have a layer of loose dirt surrounding him, if his dusty grey neck and caked fingernails were any indication. Waverly briefly wondered how he was let in. Although, she supposed “dirty dock worker” was a less suspicious outfit than “copper uniform underneath a trenchcoat”. 

She focused on the man’s face as he turned around to greet Nicole, who he probably regarded as the source of his untrained aggressions. Nicole was gripping the knuckles in her guilty hand tightly, but her face betrayed no mortal feelings of pain she may have been experiencing. She raised her chin confidently at the man, preparing for confrontation. 

He met her gaze with a fiery glare. His eyes burned with hatred that everyone in a near five-foot vicinity could feel radiating off him. Waverly was astounded at Nicole for being able to stand there unflinching as this man gathered what seemed like decades of rage and spearheaded right at her. 

In a flash, he took his now dripping glass and smashed it at Nicole’s feet. She didn’t flinch, didn’t lunge for him, just stood there and waited. Calm. Brave.

_ Baiting _ .

Waverly could see the look in Nicole’s eyes. She had seen it many times on Wynonna before, in far too many situations similar to this. Nicole wanted this man to make a move against her. What was she thinking?” 

“Come at me then, Marty!” And of course, Nicole confirmed Waverly’s theories. 

Marty charged ahead at Nicole at a supernatural speed. His arms outstretched, Waverly could see him lunging for Nicole's shirt collar, or worse, her neck. As his dirty hands gripped Nicole’s nice sweater and pushed her back into the bar, the crowd that had been quietly watching finally took the note to leave. Things were about to get dirty. 

Nicole grabbed a glass from the bar and smashed it into Marty’s left temple. Waverly stumbled back in surprise as the glass shards shattered everywhere, ducking behind the bar and feeling around for her shotgun. Eventually her fingers found polished wood and cool gunmetal.

“Get him, Dolls!” Waverly heard Nicole shout, and then she heard gunshots. 

If anyone was still in the bar that hadn’t left when the fight started, they were definitely scrambling to leave now. 

Waverly stayed under the bar, hands grasping her shotgun, ready to fire if anyone came lunging at her. She listened to the sound of the gunshots suddenly stop, and when she glanced ever the edge of the bar to survey the situation, Waverly was shocked to see Marty, trapped in a tight headlock by Nicole, his chest absolutely pumped full of bullet holes that he seemed to be taking like a tank, because there he still stood, wheezing out his breaths. 

“What the hell?” Waverly whispered to herself at the sight, and then she saw a body sail through the air and collide with the glass bottles behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: next chapter comes out in a week  
> me to me: so that was a fucking lie
> 
> anyways next chapter is gonna be super fun. not gonna tell yall when its dropping (not making that mistake twice lol)
> 
> hope you enjoyed
> 
> OH and i have tumblr now since that seems to be what all the cool folks on here do. feel free to add me? friend me? subscribe ? idk. its https://michael-inthedark.tumblr.com/ and i definitely dont know how to use it so come hang out and teach me!
> 
> Ps. to the other writers here reading this: do you guys use rich text or plain text when you write your chapters? okay Ub3rAngler out.

**Author's Note:**

> hi thank you for reading! this is my first work ever and ive been wanting to write this for a while 
> 
> if you liked any of it please let me know! ill try and update once a week but i work alot lol so be kind to me :)


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